


The Day Before the Night Before Christmas

by Lywinis



Series: And Maggie Makes Three -- A Capsicoul Alternate Universe [2]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Kidnapping, M/M, Maggie-verse, established Phil Coulson/Steve Rogers, kid-verse, non-canon compliant cellist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 13:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2852357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lywinis/pseuds/Lywinis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie Coulson disappeared from her bed on December Twenty-Second.</p><p>Phil didn't learn of it until the afternoon of the twenty-third.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day Before the Night Before Christmas

“You never picked her up for Thanksgiving,” Holly said, her voice low. Apparently the TV was on and Jerry was watching Hoarders. “Why should I give you Christmas?”

“I explained about Thanksgiving,” Phil said, trying to keep the edge of irritation out of his voice. “I was working.”

“On Thanksgiving?”

Phil showed remarkable restraint by not reminding Holly that he had to work for a living instead of living off her fiancé’s ill-gotten gains. She didn’t know Jerry had the checkered past he did – but then, she wasn’t as anal as Phil was about background checks.

Especially since Ward.

 Still, he took a deep breath in and out through his nose.

“You know I work for the government,” he said softly. “I don’t have a set schedule, and I was needed.”

“You know this is bullshit,” Holly said. “I had to put up with this while we were together. Why do you think I left?”

“Because you want me to talk about this job, and I can’t,” he said. “I can’t, you _know_ I can’t. This is why we argue. I wish I could have a normal job, but—“

“Nothing’s stopping you,” she said. “SHIELD got torn apart by that Cap guy you liked so much.”

Phil sighed.

“Can I please have her for Christmas?” he asked. “I know Jerry said he wanted to take you to Aspen.”

“Look, I don’t know. I have to think about it.” He clenched his jaw, but let her finish. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Well…I have both days off this year. I’d like to spend them with my kid.”

“Sure, Phil,” she said. The line went dead and he set the phone gently on the desk to avoid throwing it against the wall.

* * *

Maggie Coulson disappeared from her bed on December Twenty-Second.

Phil Coulson’s phone rang on the morning of the twenty-third.

“Hello?” he said, rubbing his face, still mussed from the hour and a half of sleep he’d gotten. He’d just come off duty, but that was Holly’s ringtone, so he knew he should answer, groping in the blacked out room for the buzzing cell.

“Phil, Maggie’s missing.”

Instantly, grogginess disappeared, replaced with the cold knot of fear. His shoulders tensed all the way across.

“When?” he asked.

“Yesterday morning.”

“And you’re calling me now?” he snapped. “Damn it, Holly, the first forty-eight hours are _crucial_ in missing persons cases. This is my daughter we’re talking about. Did I not deserve to know?”

He was up and moving, throwing on clothes and hopping into his jeans with the phone pressed to one ear. His duffel hit the bed with a clank and he shoved his arms into his hooded sweatshirt, tugging it over his head.

“We called the police—“

“—but not her father—“

“—who are handling it—“

“—who don’t have half the resources I have—“

“—you didn’t need to know—“

“Bullshit!” he snapped, his voice ringing in the air. It actually silenced Holly; he’d never raised his voice to her before, even in their most bitter arguments. Now, though, it barked like a drill sergeant’s. “You fucked up, Holly. Admit it, move on. This time, you’re wrong, and you might have killed our daughter because of it.”

Holly let out a choked noise and Phil winced. As much as he was irritated by her constant need to show Maggie that she was the better parent, he knew she only wanted the best for her. He sighed.

“I’m coming over. I am bringing a few friends. You will not move anything, the police have been there and likely swept the rooms for evidence, but we’re going over it all the same. You will not interfere, and when this is over, you, me, and the lawyers are having a long, long talk about this. Am I understood?”

There was silence, then a drawn in breath.

“Bring her home.”

“Of course.”

He hung up the phone and then dialed Clint.

“I need a favor.”

* * *

Natasha showed up just as Phil was climbing the steps to Holly’s duplex. She ghosted up beside him, her face a careful neutral.

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

She shook her head. “Stupid.”

“I know.”

“Clint is getting his tools. I called in some favors. Has there been any word?”

He shook his head, his duffel over his shoulder as he banged on the door.

“Phil?” Holly asked, startling to see Natasha there. “Oh. When you said friends, I didn’t think—“

“Coworker,” Phil said shortly, nodding to Natasha. “Can we come in?”

Holly silently opened the door, allowing them entry.

“There’s another man outside. Let him in when he’s ready.”

She nodded, and Phil stopped as Natasha padded to Maggie’s room, passing the shut doors without a hint of curiosity. He put his hand on Holly’s shoulder.

“Oh, Phil, it’s been awful.” Her face was drawn, tear-stained. He rubbed his thumb across her cheek and she hitched a breath, putting her arms around him. “She…I went to get her up for breakfast and she was gone. Window was closed and locked. Nothing missing.”

He held her for just a minute, old feelings resurfacing as he took in the smell of her hair, his cheek pressed to it.

“And I should be angrier at you, because you probably got her into this.” Phil felt a lance of panic at that, but didn’t interrupt. “But I know you can’t help it, honestly. You didn’t ask for…”

“I did,” he said softly. “I could have contented myself with paying child support and letting you raise her as you see fit. I didn’t. And if this is my fault, I’ll stop whoever it is. It will end.”

His fault. The thought had occurred to him, like the crack of ice on a supposedly solid lake. Dark water waiting below.

He released Holly and moved to Maggie’s bedroom.

She had a Beauty and the Beast poster on her wall. Phil vaguely remembered Holly saying something about taking her to see the stage show. He swallowed, turning around the room, forcing himself to look at this from a critical angle.

“Windows are locked, but it’s hard to tell if it was the police putting things back to rights or if they were like that,” Natasha murmured. “No prints picked up on the scanner, at least for anyone who would stand out. Did you know Jerry was—“

“Yeah,” Phil said, kneeling by the little bed. The last known place his daughter had been.

“Coulson,” Natasha said, and Phil was grateful. She was playing the colleague part to the hilt and she was giving him something else to focus on instead of his missing child. “I need you to work on this. You won’t be any good to the investigation if you’re worrying too much about what might be happening. Compartmentalize and help me.”

He swallowed, nodding, and they flipped back the blankets. No trace hairs or fibers, no prints. The ceiling didn’t show any lines or traces, and Phil found the camera only after setting off the low level emp. A teddy bear in the corner erupted in a puff of bluish smoke from the corner, and he heard a gasp from Holly in the doorway.

“Someone sent that, as a gift,” she said. “I thought it was from Jerry’s sister…”

She covered her mouth with her palm and moved out of the way of the smoke.

“When was the last time Jerry was here?” he asked.

“Last weekend,” she said. “He’s away on business.”

“Where?”

“New Jersey, not far. He’s staying the week.”

Phil nodded. “Okay. So.”

He stopped, put the pieces together in his head, and took a deep breath. Upon examination, the camera had a dispensing nozzle attached to it.

“What was in this?” he asked.

“At my guess? Could be sedatives, poison, anything that could be remote detonated,” Natasha replied. “Likely sedatives. The child wouldn’t struggle and could be carried out the door instead of the window.”

“But…I don’t sleep that hard,” Holly said.

“Then someone who knew when you were least likely to come down. To check on her.” Natasha fixed her with a glance. “We will get your daughter back.”

“I…thank you,” Holly said, biting her lip. “Would you like some coffee?”

“I would love some,” Natasha said. “Can I help?”

Phil glanced up as Clint poked his head in.

“Canvassed the buildings,” he said, flicking his shades up onto his head. He looked around the room. “Hand was here within the last month. Their signs are all over the place. Can’t see the paint unless it’s under black light. They like to hide it above doorways.”

He held up a small flashlight, fitted with a UV bulb.

“The Hand?” Phil said. “What would they want with…what would Fisk want with Maggie?”

“Think we should find out,” Clint said, his voice edged with steel. “You gonna call Cap?”

“I don’t want to make this an Assembly,” Phil said.

“Yeah, but he deserves to know.”

“Maggie’s not his kid. He doesn’t need to worry about her.”

“You know that’s bullcrap, bossman.” Phil winced, and firmed his jaw. “But I can’t make you do it. You know he’d want to be here for you.”

“That’s…look, that’s not an option right now.” Phil swallowed hard. “This isn’t his fight, and he’d make it his in a heartbeat if I asked him.”

“That’s what we do, Phil,” Clint said, clapping his shoulder. “We support family. You’n him’re…y’know.”

“I know,” Phil said. “I just…I can’t.”

“I get it. Besides, she’s my godkid. Gotta save the day.”

“Yeah.” Phil swallowed. “I gotta get my tac gear on, then we’ll head out.”

* * *

Steve woke with a snort when his phone rang.

“Phil?” he asked, his eyes bleary. “What’s up?”

“I need your help,” Phil said, blowing a sigh out of his nose. “Maggie’s been kidnapped.”

“Maggie?” Steve sat up straighter, his sleepiness gone. Phil was in trouble, and so was a little girl that might have already won him over. Feet on the floor, he listened hard. “How can I help?”

“Clint…Clint said I should call. I know this isn’t your fight, and I don’t want to make it an Assemble. But it’s Wilson Fisk.”

“Are you sure?”

“Clint seems to be. He knows what to look for, and I checked out the signs myself. They all point to the Hand. If anyone could sneak Maggie out under cover of darkness, it would be the Hand. That means they’re under orders from Fisk, according to our most recent intelligence.”

Steve was already stamping into his jeans.

“Where are you?”

Phil gave him the address.

“Should I suit up?”

“I don’t want to make this an Assemble,” Phil said. “We’re not operating in official capacity.”

“Just the shield then. Have you phoned it in to SHIELD?”

“Yeah. I’m holding them off for now. Skye is running checks covertly through missing persons. Bobbi offered to come in, but…the less people we have, the better. Clint and Natasha are her godparents, unofficially, and you…”

Steve smiled, the corners of his lips turning up.

“I’m on my way, okay?” he said. “Just…hang in there, Phil. We’ll bring her home.”

“I know, but it’s nice to hear it.” There was an audible thickness in Phil’s voice.

Steve kicked his ass into gear, saying goodbye and slipping into his boots and the padded Kevlar shirt that Natasha had gotten him for his birthday. Practical, it let him wander about in plainclothes with some degree of protection. He argued he still wasn’t built for stealth, but he did admit it was damn handy.

The last thing he wanted was to take a bullet in the crowd out in civvies. Still, the Kevlar was lightweight and flexible, allowing him room to move and breathe. He slipped the shield into his carrying duffel, slinging it over his shoulder as he kicked into his boots and was out the door.

* * *

The last known Hand hideout was a cell that operated a block from the docks. Steve’s lips wrinkled with distaste when he realized that this was a cell that had been busted months ago, tagged, and then continued to operate under SHIELD observation. He didn’t bother to argue the point with Phil now, not with Maggie gone.

His gut clenched at the thought of something happening to the sweet little girl, and the leather grip of his shield creaked audibly under his fingers as his breath steamed in the cold. December was in full blast, and icy licks of wind cut underneath his coat. He shivered.

Natasha shook her head and put a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at her, nodding, still silent as ghosts, even as Phil checked on the entrance.

He understood, but he didn’t have to like it.

Wilson Fisk was Trouble with a capital T, and Steve knew it. The first time he’d ever tangled with the Kingpin, he’d been surprised with a summons to court for damages done to Fisk’s warehouse. Tony had headed that off at the pass; the owner of Stark Industries had a team of shark lawyers all his own, all too ready to bill more hours for a high profile case like Tony Stark versus Wilson Fisk.

Now, though, kidnapping?

Something niggled in his head, and he tried to place it. Human trafficking wasn’t the Kingpin’s usual style. He’d made a stir in the underworld by breaking the Hand and the Maggia under his control of the practice. Extortion was one thing, but this was a whole other ball game, and Steve wondered what had made him change his mind.

Unless he wanted leverage over Phil.

He glanced at Phil, kneeling at the edge of the roof and watching the guards walk back and forth and shoot the breeze, even in the cold.

[What’s the plan?] Clint signed.

Steve had picked up ASL when he’d learned Clint was partially deaf, and he had to agree that it was damned useful for this type of work.

[We go in, we disable them and their communications, and then we interrogate one to find out where she’s being held.] Phil’s signs were curt, abrupt, and the violence in the motions made Steve ache. This couldn’t be easy on him. He knelt in the scurls of snow that covered the rooftop next to the agent and put a warm mittened hand on his shoulder. Phil didn’t flinch, but he did lean into the touch.

[Time?] he asked.

[23:12.] Natasha signed. [We should hurry.]

Splitting off into pairs, they slipped off the rooftops, flitting through the blowing wind and the cover the pools of shadow around the street lights gave them. This warehouse district wasn’t nearly as well lit as a neighborhood would be, and they got the drop on the thugs with a wide loop around to the alleys. Natasha dropped on one from above, her thighs tightening around his neck until a soft pop sounded.

Steve winced as the man slumped, but he’d done worse. He launched his shield into the fray, arcing it smoothly over Natasha’s head to break the sternum of the unconscious man’s friend. He’d been pulling a snub-nosed sub machine gun from his coat.

Couldn’t have that.

His heart pounding, he turned as an arrow whistled from the dark, exploding into a viscous glue. Its forward momentum pinned the other two guards to the wall, their struggling ceasing when Natasha pinched their pressure points.

“Interrogation?” he asked.

“Not these guys,” Phil murmured. “They’re door jockeys. Inside.”

Phil pulled his pistol, the .45 gleaming dully in the dirty street lights. Steve glanced at him, then took up a position on point. Phil shot him a grateful look, and they kicked the door in.

The Hand were waiting.

The warehouse was a maze of large crates and boxes, laid out in the haphazard pattern only the owners could navigate, and Steve could hear his footsteps echoing weirdly. He changed his stance, moving like a large cat through the shadows.

The near-silent _whoosh_ of a blade alerted him, and the thrown dagger sparked off his shield. Steve smelled something noxious in the air, and he batted the tossed canister back where it came from. He pulled his collar up, the built in filter easing the burn of whatever poison the Hand were using. He glanced back and saw that Phil was doing the same, a neat and tidy rebreather tucked into his nostrils.

Natasha and Clint weren’t to be found, and Steve found out why a moment later when lightning sizzled in front of him. Natasha landed, her bites smoking as she dusted her hands. She signed [Clear.] and they pressed on.

Then, the lights went out.

Phil sighed and pulled chemical sticks from his pocket, snapping them and holding them out to Steve. He took one, and they moved forward, their progress slowed.

Clint’s, however, was not. There was a burst of high pitched squealing, then the thud of bodies hitting the concrete. Natasha waited a beat, then drummed out a short tattoo on a metal drum nearby. An answering staccato rap, and she nodded.

“This way,” she murmured, creeping forward in a crouch. Phil brought up the rear, and Steve could feel his presence at his back. There was another thud ahead, and Clint dropped to the floor on silent feet, rolling and coming up with another arrow nocked.

He needn’t have bothered – the man he’d pinned to the wall wasn’t going anywhere. He struggled, spitting something in a language Steve couldn’t translate as he wriggled to free himself from arrows embedded in the steel wall behind him. He hadn’t gotten around to learning more Asian dialects yet.

Phil moved forward, reaching for the man’s face wrap and yanking it off his jaw.

“A little girl, about six years old. She was taken from her home forty-eight hours ago.” He fished a wallet photo from his pocket, using his other hand to force the man’s eyes toward the photo of a smiling Maggie. “This little girl. Where is she? Do you understand?”

The man spat in Phil’s face. He sighed, and started over again in the language the man had been speaking before. Natasha slipped to Steve.

“He’s the leader,” she said softly. “See his neck tattoo? They signify their bosses, although they’re much more subtle about it than the Yakuza are.”

Steve watched Phil grill the man, his voice slow and patient, and the agent’s hand gripping the Hand’s jaw hard enough to keep his attention.

“Does he know where Maggie is?” he asked.

“He probably does. The sign they’d painted on the apartment building across from Holly’s matches this cell’s identifying markers. They’re a language unto themselves, if you know how to read them. He’ll have known where Maggie was taken.” Natasha’s eyes widened a fraction, and Steve saw Phil’s shoulder muscles bunch too late.

The agent hauled off and backhanded the Hand agent, rocking his head back and splitting his lip.

“Again,” he snapped. “Tell me where she is.”

The Hand spat blood, but the resolve in his eyes wavered when Phil’s combat knife left his boot. Phil tapped it against the man’s bicep, and Steve moved to intervene, but then the unmistakable sound of an address poured forth.

Steve sighed in relief. Phil merely shook his head and sheathed the knife. It was frightening, almost, the lengths to which Phil would go for Maggie’s sake. But something in Steve’s chest answered that wildness, growling to snap bone and pulp noses for the disruption of his family.

He shook the thought off. They weren’t his family, no matter the dates, the soft words and shared laughter. Maggie and Phil weren’t his. Not yet. He straightened when Phil did, his brow wrinkled as the agent turned.

“She’s in Fisk Tower,” he said softly.

Steve’s jaw ticked. “Then we go in after her.”

Phil nodded. “Clint, Natasha, will you radio this in, get cleanup started, then meet us there?”

“Yes,” Natasha said. She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need a minute?”

“I don’t have a minute,” Phil said. “But thank you. Steve’ll back me up. We’ll be fine till you get there.”

She nodded. “Keep your head. Fisk suing you is the least of your worries.”

“Yeah,” he murmured.

* * *

Steve craned his head to look up at Fisk Tower, his vision of the top obscured by the whirling snow. The storm had kicked up harder, and now it was getting harder to move around. Phil skidded on a patch of ice, and Steve caught him, a strong hand under his elbow.

“Thanks,” Phil said, his voice muffled.

“No problem,” Steve said. “You doing all right?”

“As well as can be expected. He’s got my little girl, Steve.”

“But we’re going to get her back.” Steve resisted the urge to rub Phil’s back soothingly, like he would have if they were in private. Instead, he led the way up the steps, his gloved hand reaching for the gold washed handle.

To his surprise, the door was open, and he led the way into the foyer. A fountain tinkled in the corner, some sort of Feng Shui thing, Steve supposed. He glanced around. No guards, no front desk security.

“Top of the tower,” Phil said. “Fisk must be expecting us.”

Steve nodded, and they moved to the elevator, which slid open to admit them. He tried not to think of all the ways they could be boxed in, the least of which was the elevator; if Fisk decided they were too much of a threat, he could simply have the elevator drop them when they reached the penthouse floor. He’d seen how tall the tower was, and he wasn’t sure he’d survive it, not even thinking about Phil surviving a fall that far.

His thoughts turning morbid, Steve snapped his focus to the mission at hand.

When they exited at the penthouse floor, the secretary rose. Petit and blonde, Steve still noticed the tell-tale ripple of muscle. She moved like a trained dancer, and that could mean anything from martial arts to fencing. His hackles rose.

“Gentlemen,” she said. “May I take your coats?”

“Mister Fisk keeps a secretary at these hours?” Phil asked, his voice dry.

“Mister Fisk keeps odd hours, as he does business all over the world,” she said, her voice just as dry. “Please, he’s waiting to see you. Will you be keeping your coats?”

“Please,” Phil said. “We won’t be here long.”

She nodded, gesturing to the door. They followed her, and she opened it for them.

“Mister Fisk? The SHIELD representative and Captain America are here.”

“Thank you, Lacey,” he said. “That will be all. Please continue your correspondence.”

Steve got a good look at Wilson Fisk. In close quarters, the man made ‘large’ an understatement. A slab of muscle, Fisk was a powerhouse. While Steve was fairly tall at 6’2”, Fisk had him by a good five inches. He stood, his body framed by the bay windows overlooking the snowy streets.

“Agent, Captain. Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?”

“You knew we were coming.” It wasn’t a question.

“Absolutely. You don’t become who I am without learning some things. Agent…?”

“Coulson. Phil Coulson.” Phil didn’t reach for his badge, simply regarded Fisk with that still calm that was almost frightening in its way. Phil was a man of action. Steve watched, his hands clasped on his belt, his shield on his arm. “Are you aware of why we’re here?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Fisk replied. He tented his hands in front of his face, each of his fingers twice the size of Steve’s. “However I can assist SHIELD, I will endeavor to do so.”

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, his gut tightening every second. He strained to hear something that might give Maggie away, but no such luck.

“A little girl went missing from her bed two days ago,” Phil said, moving forward. He held up the picture. “Do you know anything about her?”

“That’s…yes, I believe that’s an associate’s daughter. Jerry Pinkerton, I believe his name is. Not biological. But he’s involved with her mother.” Fisk raised his brows, his hands spread, palms open. “I’m afraid I can’t help much more than that.”

“At eleven-twelve tonight, we broke up a Hand cell on the South side. They sent me here, saying she’d been brought here. Please don’t make me arrest you for child trafficking, Mister Fisk. You might be Teflon for most things, but don’t think I won’t make this stick like dog shit to your loafers.” Phil placed his palms flat on the desk, meeting Fisk’s eyes without flinching. “Where’s the girl?”

Fisk regarded Phil quietly for a long moment.

“Jerry had a debt to pay,” he said, moving to a bank of monitors. “The girl was collateral. He handed her over himself. Sedated her and brought her to me, promising me he’d pay within the next month.”

Steve’s stomach dropped to his toes, and he was nauseous. “He brought her here?”

“Of course,” he said. “A good faith investment, he called it.”

Phil stepped back as though slapped. Fisk seemed not to notice, calling up an image of Maggie on the monitors. The little girl was sitting on a couch in what looked to be another part of the building, with a man pacing back and forth in front of her. Every so often, at irregular intervals, the man would whirl on Maggie, who screamed softly and sobbed into her hands.

The leather of Steve’s shield creaked. “Where is she?”

“It seems he has betrayed my trust,” Fisk said, ignoring the question. “Unfortunate for him.”

“Where is she?” Phil asked again.

“Two floors down,” Fisk replied. “She is collateral, and she won’t be leaving. I can assure you of that.”

“It’s over, Fisk. We’re taking her home.” Steve turned to walk out.

“Bullseye,” Fisk said, his tone brisk and businesslike.

“Yeah?” came a voice from thin air, and the man on the monitor turned around.

“If someone attempts to take our little guest, feel free to make her dead weight,” he said.

The marksman gave the camera a lopsided grin. “You got it. Hear that, little lady? Uncle Bullseye gets to have a little fun.”

Maggie sobbed before the sound cut out again.

Steve’s face went blank and hard. “Fisk, listen to yourself, she’s six years old.”

“I’ve been double crossed. Why else would SHIELD be here when she was given up of his own accord?” Fisk said.

Steve whipped the shield in Fisk’s direction, but the big man swatted it from the air, sending it back at Steve, who caught it. A barrier dropped over him, shimmering to life and bathing the Kingpin in blue luminescence.

“Lacey,” he said. “Escort our guests out.”

“Not without the girl,” Phil said, moving to the door.

Steve intercepted Lacey, who had taken her hair down. She launched a short punch at Phil, but Steve stepped between them, letting Phil free to make a break for the stairs.

Steve twisted to see the Kingpin, but Fisk was gone, a bookcase swinging shut. Steve swore mentally and focused on his opponent. Phil glanced at him, hesitating at the door.

“Go,” Steve called. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Lacey’s foot rebounded off his ribs and he grunted, catching her leg and pinning it. When he glanced again, Phil was gone.

* * *

Phil bolted down the stairs, his heart hammering. His hands sweated, and he skidded on the landing, nearly twisting his ankle, even in his tactical gear. He exited two floors down, hoping the Kingpin hadn’t lied to him. Silent alarms would likely alert Bullseye, and god only knew how much time he had then.

His whole body focused on Maggie, making sure she was safe, Phil dropped into a crouch, duck walking carefully past the glass of an open office. He could see Bullseye within, and…

Maggie, tears staining her face. Phil breathed out in relief.

He’d need to be careful about this. Somehow.

He wished Clint and Natasha were here, or that Steve had come with him. But all he had was himself, and he swallowed, standing and stepping into the door. Let Maggie please stay quiet.

Maggie caught sight of him, but Bullseye hadn’t heard him, his steps silent. He put his finger to his lips, and she sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

“My daddy’s gonna get you,” she said, blue-grey eyes filled with fire now. Phil moved closer, his hands flexing.

“Izzat so?” Bullseye asked, suddenly interested in the change in behavior from the scared little girl. “Your daddy’s got twenty years on me and a beer belly. What’s he gonna do?”

“Jerry’s not my daddy,” Maggie said, wiping her nose again.

“Oh?” chuckled the marksman. “Then who’s your daddy?”

“That’d be me,” Phil said, looping the rope around Bullseye’s neck, putting his foot in the small of the man’s back, and pulling with all his might, turning them both so that the marksman couldn’t reach her. Bullseye, caught at a disadvantage, struggled, his taller frame letting him slip free of the makeshift noose.

“You’re dead,” he rasped, reaching for his belt. Phil went for his gun at the same time.

Shattering glass made Maggie scream, and Steve intercepted, taking the dart to the shoulder with a grunt as he barreled Bullseye to the ground, bearing him down under his own weight. Phil moved to put himself between the fight and his daughter, gathering her up.

“Hi, Doodlebug. I’m sorry I’m late,” he whispered. “Come on, up, up. We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Maggie clung to him like a limpet and he carried her to the hallway, Steve’s grunts and the dull thud of punches being landed meant that the fight was nearly over. Phil curled himself around Maggie, alert and with his gun drawn, listening and murmuring to her.

Steve stood at last.

“Clear,” he called. “You have any zip ties, Phil?”

“Yeah,” Phil said. He holstered his gun and pulled them out, tossing them to Steve. He caught them, and Phil sagged back against the wall.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, Doodlebug?”

“Did I miss Christmas?”

“No, honey,” Phil said with a smile. “We’re gonna take you home. You just hang in there, okay?”

She nodded, shaking in his arms. Phil petted her hair and shushed her a bit. Steve knelt beside them both.

“You okay?” he asked them.

“You’re bleeding,” Maggie said, pointing at Steve’s shirt.

“So I am,” he said. “I’ll see the doctor about it when they get here.”

Clint poked his head around the door. “There you are.”

“Uncle Clint!” Maggie said, waving.

“Heeey, kiddo,” he said, grinning.

* * *

Steve was putting the last bits and bobs on the tree when the knock on the door came. He’d been keeping himself busy, or else he’d worry himself to death about Phil and Maggie. They were safe at the tower. Clint had taken them when Maggie hadn’t wanted to go home.

He could understand that.

Opening the door, he found Phil, two duffel bags slung over his shoulder and Maggie in his arms.

“She wanted to be where it was safe,” he said, sheepish. Steve ushered them in out of the cold, taking one of the bags. “This was the only place I could think of that wasn’t the bunker. She’s not been…she’s got night terrors.”

“I can bet so,” Steve said. He set the bags just inside the door and locked up. “The guest bedroom is still made up, if you wanted to let her sleep there.”

Maggie nodded, then buried her face in Phil’s neck, making Steve’s heart break. Phil took her back, tucking her into the bed and smoothing her hair back as he kissed her forehead. She burrowed under the covers and closed her eyes, and Phil crept out, moving to find Steve in the kitchen, making hot chocolate.

“Last day or so has been rough, huh?” Steve asked, offering a mug to Phil. Phil forwent the mug and pulled Steve into an embrace, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and burying his face in his boyfriend’s chest.

Steve wrapped around him, holding him close.

“Come here,” he whispered, turning off the stove and moving the pot off the burner. He led them into the living room, tugging Phil to the couch.

“But…”

“Shh,” Steve said, settling and tugging Phil down next to him. He boxed him in, holding him close. “You’re fine. Maggie’s fine. You’re safe, and you’re with me.”

“You gave me my daughter back,” Phil said, his voice thick and his eyes closed as he pressed an ear to Steve’s chest, taking comfort in his heartbeat. “I don’t know how I can thank you enough. You and Clint and Natasha.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said. “Just rest. You’re wound tighter than my watch.”

Phil sighed, the knot in his back loosening and sagging into Steve. Steve tugged Phil onto his chest and the smaller man was soon asleep, as exhausted by this as his daughter had been. Steve drifted, the light of the Christmas tree bathing them in a soft glow as he held Phil.

He woke only when Maggie climbed between him and her dad, nosing into his chest and shivering. Steve grabbed the blanket with a bit of yoga, tucking it around all of them.

“It’s okay, you’re both safe here with me.” Maggie mumbled something and was soon out like a light, snoring softly. Steve smiled, watching the way Christmas lights played over his family.

Because even if he didn’t want to admit it to himself yet, he was caught fast. Not that he minded. In fact, he was already planning waffles for breakfast as he drifted off again.

* * *

“Jerry Pinkerton?” The voice caught him off guard, and he looked up.

The woman was a bombshell, sleek red hair and a figure to die for, long legs and rounded hips. She moved like a cat, walking in a tailored pantsuit up to his desk.

He had to admit, his eyes were more on her rack than her eyes, but who could blame him?

“I was wondering if you’d like to come to lunch with me?” she asked. “I have a business proposition for you.”

“I…may I ask who with?”

“Stark Industries,” she said. “We’re a satellite account, and we need more land for labs.”

Jerry grinned. “There’s a great little steak house down the road. If uh, you wanted to talk business.”

He looked her up and down, making his intentions clear.

“Perfect,” she smiled back. “Get your coat.”

Her driver was blonde and looked like he was muscle. He popped his gum at Jerry and opened the door for them. The woman (her name was Natalie Rushman, she said, “Please, call me Natalie.”) slid into the seat first, and he slid in beside her, admiring the long, lush beauty of her. He itched to touch her, and he surreptitiously slid the ring on his left hand off into his pocket.

“Hey, I know you, don’t I?” the driver asked, peering over the divider.

“I don’t think so,” Jerry snorted, turning away.

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” The driver grinned at him in the mirror. “You’re Jerry Pinkerton. My best friend Phil knows you.”

Jerry’s blood ran cold, and he started to sweat. He couldn’t have figured it out. The guy was a paper pusher with the illusions of being a spook. The CIA would never have taken him.

“Oh, is this the one that Phil was talking about?” Natalie asked, her smile brilliant. “I hear he’s kind of mad at you, Mister Pinkerton. He found out what happened to Maggie.”

Jerry reached for the doors, but the driver locked them. He jerked the handle, trying to signal someone, but the windows were opaque. Natalie tapped him on the shoulder.

“As Phil’s friend, it’s my duty to inform you that you aren’t going to enjoy this,” she said. She spritzed him in the face with her perfume, and he grew drowsy. The driver spoke as from a long way away.

“Man, he doesn’t look like much, does he?”

“Definite downgrade.”

Jerry blacked out.

* * *

“Mister Fisk is willing to offer a settlement.”

“Wilson Fisk is a criminal,” Phil said, staring hard at the vidscreen, his eyes made of flint. “He kidnapped a six year old girl under the pretense of holding her as collateral for a debt. When asked to return the girl into my custody as the closest agent of SHIELD to return her to her mother, he proceeded to tell his mercenary, the marksman Bullseye, to execute her. That’s not the actions of a man willing to settle.”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “You had no jurisdiction—“

“If I may interrupt?” Jennifer Walters said, leaning one hip against the conference table and brushing a lock of emerald green hair behind her ear. “My clients were invited up. Mister Fisk then told them his plans. Plausible deniability is out the window. You’ve got nothing, Scarelli. Try again.”

The lawyer sputtered, going red in the face.

“I’d be willing to offer a settlement,” Phil said. Jen glanced at him. “Fisk forgets all knowledge that the girl exists, and hands over Jerry Pinkerton to SHIELD custody.”

They conferred for a moment. “In exchange for what?”

“Amnesty,” Phil said. “SHIELD will look the other way – just this once – regarding Mister Fisk’s involvement in this incident.”

“A tempting offer,” Fisk said. “How do I know you won’t go back on your end?”

“It’s simple.” Phil folded his arms. “You know whose daughter she is now. If harm comes to her, I’ll tear your tower down around your ears. I will ruin you, not just physically or emotionally, but financially. I will burn you to the ground and I will salt the gravesite.”

Fisk regarded Phil for a moment, and Phil took his measure of the man as well.

“I can respect that,” Fisk said. “Very well. Agreed.”

Jen smiled. “Good talking with you, Scarelli. Till next time.”

The poor lawyer looked like he wanted a stiff drink as the feed cut out.

Phil glanced at Jen, breathing out. “Thank you.”

“Hey, no problem. I don’t mind taking on these kinds of cases. You’ve got a sweet kid. I’ll help you out with the custody, too, though I don’t do many of them. I can give you the name of one of my partners, who specializes in the law. He’ll be happy to help out.”

“I don’t have much—“

“Relax, Phil,” she said, smiling. “I’m doing this as a personal favor to Steve. He asked. And when Captain America asks, well, it’s so rare I do tend to say yes.”

Phil smiled, looking up at the taller woman.

“Again, thank you.”

“Naw,” she said. She nudged him toward the door with a wink. “Go enjoy the rest of your holiday, Director. And don’t forget to kiss that man silly when you get back.”

“I won’t,” he said, giving a wave.

* * *

Maggie hit his knees as soon as he came in, and Steve poked his head out of the kitchen, the scent of gingerbread wafting to Phil’s nose.

“Well, hi.” Steve gave him a smile. “How’d it go?”

“Better than expected,” Phil said. He lifted Maggie, then blew a raspberry in her stomach, making her shriek. “Fisk agreed to terms.”

“Good,” Steve said. He put down the mixing bowl and moved closer, wiping his hands on his apron. “I know it was Christmas Day, and you weren’t expecting to spend it like that, but—“

Steve was cut off as Phil set Maggie on her feet before reaching up and cupping the back of his neck. He drew him in and kissed him gently, something soft and sweet that had both their knees buckling by the end of it.

“Merry Christmas,” Phil whispered, pointing up. Steve saw the mistletoe and chuckled. “Let’s just…take today. I’ll deal with the rest later. Jerry's cooling his heels at the bunker. We’ll deal with it later. Right now, I just need today.”

“I think that’s a good idea.” Maggie hugged Steve around the knees, and his broad hand dropped to her hair, smoothing it out. “We were making Christmas cookies. You want some?”

“Like that’s the kind of question you need to ask me,” Phil chuckled.

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, Capsicoulers!
> 
> I decided I wanted to write a little more on Maggie this week, so I did. I hope you all have a good holiday if you celebrate.


End file.
